If
by Rainwind
Summary: Dracocentric, a series of drabbles that actually make sense together! Thoughts of what happens the summer after 6th year. HalfBlood Prince spoilers . sorry … M for violence, DMHP later.
1. Chapter 1

If…

Summary: Draco-centric, a series of drabbles that go into a fic. Thoughts of what happens the summer after 6th year. Half-Blood Prince spoilers --;; sorry…

Disclaimer: I believe we have already established that NOTHING IS MINE! Breaks into helpless sobs now how will Draco and Harry ever get together?

Notes: yeah…so I recently read the 6th book…and it really depressed me. I have theories that Snape really isn't bad and just cares about Draco enough to kill Dumbledore to help him…but no one believes me because now everyone I know hates Snape and Draco, even though Draco was only doing it to save his family. I'm sure there are others out there who agree with me. DRACO AND SNAPE ARE GOOD. And Harry and Ginny do not belong together. Plus, in the book, it clearly said something roughly along the lines of, "Harry was developing an obsession with Draco Malfoy." Which sounds suspicious to me. Oh well. We can always hope…

Yeah, so this is just my outlook on what would happen to Draco over the summer, after his 'betrayal' of the Death Eaters. After all, he could kill Dumbledore. It'll probably go over Harry later, too.

If…

…

If he weren't such a coward, Dumbledore wouldn't be dead. He had never meant for anyone to get hurt. If it hadn't been for his family… Anyways, it didn't matter. Snape had sacrificed his good reputation for him, had killed Dumbledore, perhaps the only thing that was keeping Potter alive at Hogwarts, for him. For a worthless, ungrateful little…boy. Snape had bought him so much time, told him to run…but it didn't work. It didn't matter. They had caught him anyways. He was back 'home' and no one could help him now. Footsteps approached, and he recognized voices. _Not good._

He curled up and resisted the urge to sob hopelessly. Malfoys didn't sob. Malfoys weren't helpless. Malfoys were always proud and strong, unafraid in the face of danger. The stones of the dungeon were cold and rough under his pale skin, but he couldn't feel anything. The blood was drying on his body. The chains they used to hold him in place dangled above him, taunting. There were no windows in the Malfoy dungeons. He hadn't screamed yet, hadn't given them any of the weakness they wanted. Malfoys didn't react. He closed his eyes and vowed. _You won't break me._

The sound of approaching footsteps from beyond the metal bars barely registered in the tortured mind. Cold eyes looked down at the prone form lying on the rough floor stones. A familiar scene. He knew the boy was an excellent actor, perhaps better than he himself. The arched back and defeated pose covered an emotionless face and clear eyes. The pain was blocked away. Nevertheless, death was an everlasting threat. The hinges were silent. The potion worked instantly. Everything healed. Chapped lips formed three words. He gave a thin-lipped smile and his cloak swirled as he left. _Thank you, Snape._

Maybe if he'd just tried to do things a bit differently things wouldn't have gone as wrong as they did. Maybe if he'd tried to do things the way they said not to, instead of listening, it wouldn't have been as bad. Maybe the old wizard he'd always looked up to would still be alive, maybe if…maybe…maybe everything that had happened was his fault. Maybe…maybe if he hadn't ever been part of anyone's life, if he had just insisted on going to Durmstrang, none of this would have happened. Draco sighed and pressed his forehead against the glass. _I Repent._

He slammed his fist against the stonewall and instantly regretted it as a crunching sound and a wave of blinding pain brought him to his knees. He cradled the fist and examined it closely. The force had torn his knuckles apart. Blood joined the dried copper on the ground. His wrist and three fingers were broken. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he gathered the traces of inherited power and focused it carefully. Wandless magic was simple if you knew the mechanics. The bone cracked back into place and the skin mended, and Draco felt a sense of loss. _NO CRYING._

Secrets were still held back, and they would never get them if he could help it. They had figured out that he was basically immune to the Cruciatus Curse now, so they had moved to more complex torturing spells and techniques. Still, the secrets remained just beyond the tip of his tongue, and they slid slowly back into his throat every day. They would never break him, he was immune to the Imperius Curse and if they killed him the secrets would be lost. He knew more than anyone knew. More than they thought he ever knew. _Never worth it._

Prisoner in his own room. Black silk sheets on a bed made of darkest ebony wood, lush black carpeting and black walls edged with deep, blood red. Only two mirrors, one mounted on the dresser and one full-length leaning against a wall opposite. A walk in closet and a large bathroom. Luxury. This was his prison. His escape was now his prison. Never before had he hated his room so much. He was lucky. They had yet to find the secret room connected to this one, the one that held his art and his personality. _You'll never find anything here._

Draco gasps for breath and listens to the steady sound of blood flowing. A rushing, dripping sort of sound. It's warm against his ruined midsection. Muggles may be geniuses, but some of their inventions just aren't safe. Like the acid that bit through his skin. They stopped it from reaching his organs and sprinkled salt over the wound. Salt burns. Like his eyes burn, salty. He closes them. No crying. The gaping wound streams blood, and Draco fears he will die. _Concentrate_, he tells himself, and it heals a little. He can see his stomach, liver and intestines. _It hurts…_

Wounds have faded into scars, but it still hurts. His perfect skin was marred by vicious scars. Before now, all wounds were carefully healed, so as not to scar, because scars were imperfection, and imperfection was not tolerated. Malfoys were perfect. But now…now it was different. Draco sighed and thought, _perfection never lasts for very long._ Looking down at the remaining scabs, he remembered how this had happened. If he was really like the Draco Malfoy people at Hogwarts knew, he would blame Potter for this. But he wasn't, and he knew it was his fault. _It shatters. Like glass._

The quill slipped and stabbed deeply into his palm. Blood splattered onto the parchment. Draco cursed and took out his wand, wanting to clean it up, then rethought. Maybe it would help. He dipped his quill into black ink and poised it over the page. One letter…one letter that could save him. He wrote four words, then flipped the page over and wrote seven sentences. He stroked his owl's head and gave her instructions. Take it to someone who can help. She gave him a sorrowful look and flew off into the night. Draco sat back. _Everything will be okay._

…

So that's it…so far. The next will be either Harry's POV or mixed, like Harry and Draco and maybe someone else. If you didn't get the third paragraph on this page, Snape healed Draco (who was the form on the floor). Draco thinks everything that happened was his fault. Snape is being praised (evidently) while Draco is tortured, because Snape killed Dumbledore and Draco couldn't do it. He did what he had to but he couldn't do it. I need feedback on this one. Please humor me. This whole document is 1300 words. 100 here, 200 in the beginning.


	2. The Beginning

If…

Disclaimer: not mine.

Notes: I am depressed, so, as always, this will most likely be depressing to an extent. I am also practically in tears (don't ask why, I have no idea), which may add to the depression. Read at your own risk; don't say I didn't warn you. I decided that drabble chapters will be in Draco's POV only, so this one most likely will not contain drabbles.

If…

Chapter Two

…

Harry woke to a tapping on his window, and it took him a few seconds to realize where he was. The Burrow. Because he wouldn't have to go to the Dursleys anymore. Never again. Groping around on the night table, he finally found the cold metal of his glasses and snapped them onto his face. The blurry room instantly cleared.

It was a black owl. None of his friends had a black owl. Hogwarts didn't have a black owl. The ministry didn't (as far as he knew) ever send black owls. So who…?

He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and went to open the window of Ron's room. He glanced over at the snoring lump tangled in a thick quilt and smiled softly when the snoring turned to muttering and the body fell off the tiny cot. There were a few colorful curses, more muttering and then the snoring resumed. It was strangely soothing.

The owl flew in, landed on his shoulder and stuck out a leg.

Harry looked dubiously at the rolled up piece of parchment and carefully took it off the owl's leg. He unrolled it and the four words hit him hard.

_It's Starting To Burn._

There was nothing else. The script was neat and fairly small, flowing and long and slanted artfully. The tail on the G was long and looped, the first I also loopy and abstract. Just four words, and together they were almost disturbingly elegant. He had a feeling that he'd seen this writing before, but he didn't know where.

He held it up and squinted at the writing. Maybe there was something hidden, a secret message or something…he turned on the small lamp and held the page up…and suddenly more words leapt out.

He smacked his forehead and muttered, "I'm so stupid," and turned the page over.

'_This parchment is two way, meaning that if you (whomever you are) write something it will show up on my copy, and when I write something it will appear on yours. All I can say is that I am in danger and that I need help. I can't say my name or where I am until I determine that you (whomever you are) are trustworthy. Please keep my owl for the summer. Her name is Synna and she is generally friendly unless provoked. My situation is dire, and although you don't have to trust me, I need help. I suspect my time is running out._

He reread the words, and then read them again. Then Harry set down the parchment and sat back in the chair, feeling rather disgruntled, and said, "huh."

And then instantly regretted it as Ron turned over and the snoring turned to muttering again. He switched off the lamp hurriedly and tensed. A few moments that felt like a lifetime later, the snoring started up again. Harry relaxed and let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Why was he so tense? It wasn't like this was a secret.

And yet…

He didn't want anyone to find out. He knew already that this was something he was going to keep from his friends, something he wouldn't tell them until later, when he found out who and what and where and when and how and, most importantly, WHY.

But something felt wrong.

Of all possible things that could have been written, that was definitely not what he had expected. He had expected some long-winded explanation, or a desperate help message scribbles quickly in as if someone was coming to get the person and they needed to finish it before they were caught, or maybe some strange language or symbols or even a poem with multiple clues that would help him find out who it was, where they were and what the predicament was.

But no, instead he got seven sentences of information, written clearly, legibly and neatly in the same print as the previous message. It was matter-of-fact, levelheaded and calm.

And it frustrated him to NO END!

This was not how it should have happened!

He sighed and looked at the paper.

It stared back.

He gave it a doubtful look, then raised an eyebrow at it.

It seemed to _sneer_ back.

He felt his eye twitch in irritation. It looked like Draco Malfoy.

The paper fluttered back.

"Oh well," he said aloud, though softly, "might as well…"

Slipping a quill and a pot of black ink out of his trunk, he dipped the quill in the ink and slowly started to write.

_**I'm afraid I can't tell you my name either; unless I have your guarantee that you're not a Death Eater and that this will not be seen by any Death Eaters. My name isn't exactly liked by them. If you are not in a Death Eater safe position, you may refer to me as 'H'.**_

_**That aside, can you tell me anything about your situation? Do you have any idea where you are? I can't really help you if I don't know where you are. I've had some bad experiences with Death Eaters in the past. I hope you understand. I can assure you that I'm trustworthy, but I suppose that my assurance doesn't mean all that much.**_

He waited for a moment, and suddenly, magically, writing began spiraling across the page.

_Is H your first initial? I think I may know who you are. Perhaps you should change it to J, or P, even G. H is rather obvious. Maybe I'm wrong. You may refer to me as 'D' or, if it would suit you better – which it would if I'm correct about your identity – 'M'. Odd, D stands for Death Eater. You have my assurance. I am not a Death Eater, and would rather die than become one. I may very well have to. I would, however, be considered one were I caught. I suppose that means that yes, I have the dark mark, but I am not loyal to Voldemort or his cause. My parents would have me believe in him, but my failure to obey and to carry out his orders correctly have placed me in a rather compromising position._

_You may inform RW, HG (funny how the initials are the same as the potential title), RL or anyone else you find suitably trustworthy. You're right, your assurance doesn't mean much, but if I'm correct about who you are (which I believe I am), you are trustworthy, and that is a relief to me._

_I am in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Do not tell the ministry. A raid from them would mean my life, and everything I know about the inner workings of their plans would die with me._

_And you wouldn't want another life on your hands, would you J?_

Harry felt his lip curl into a sneer. J for James, P for Potter, G for Gryffindor. D and M for Draco Malfoy. Inform Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Head Girl, Remus Lupin or anyone else. If it hadn't been for Draco, Harry thought bitterly and selfishly, AD – Albus Dumbledore – would be on that list as well. He wrote back anyways, allowing his hatred of the other boy to guide his hand.

_**Malfoy. What an unpleasant surprise. Still the cocky little arrogant bastard, I see, just with a touch of fear added. Never fear. I will help you, as is my job. I do, however, suggest you don't say anything that would be detrimental to your health. Or rather, anything that would make me want to not help you.**_

_**Is there any way to send things through this page? I'd like to send you something that will help you protect yourself when the ministry comes into the Manor. They're muggle items (which I'm sure is repulsive, but they're the only things I have right now – I refuse to send you my wand) but greatly useful.**_

_**Hope you're not squeamish.**_

He gave a satisfied smirk and sat back to wait for a response.

_Potter. I was right, then. You're right. I am afraid. But then, so would you be if you'd been tortured within inches of your life since the beginning of the summer when they took you out of the forest and knocked you out with a stabbing spell straight to the temple. I've probably lost more blood in the past three days than you have in your life. Then again, even if you did live in a cupboard, my life has been a hundred times worse than yours has ever been._

_Enough with my bitter rant. If you lay something on the page and say 'send' it will go through. What are you sending? I'm not squeamish. You start to not be squeamish when you see your parents cold-bloodedly murder someone in front of you when you're three. Enough of your own blood does that to you._

Harry paused for a moment, rather puzzled by this new revelation. He slowly took his precious items from his drawer and placed them on the page.

"Send."

_**They're what muggles call guns. If you pull the trigger, a small, metal projectile is pushed out of the barrel (the hole in the end) at an impossibly high velocity. They pierce through skin as well as they do skulls.**_

_**They also bring a lot of blood.**_

_**This is a revolver, but there's only six bullets (the projectiles) in it. I sent a few more sets. You should have about thirty extra bullets. There's an instruction page inside the barrel. It tell you how to put more bullets in.**_

_I'm not stupid, Potter. I know what a gun is. I've been studying muggles since I was six. I could probably live in the muggle world better than you can._

_When will the aurors be coming?_

_**I don't know. I'll tell you as soon as I contact them.**_

_Someone's coming._

_**Are you okay? Malfoy? Draco?**_

"DAMMIT!"

…

How was that? Sorry it took me so long. It's been a while since my last inspiration. Although that wasn't all that bad.

Gotta go. Hope you liked!


	3. In Which Things Start Happening

If…

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: not mine

Notes: more random inspiration.

If…

Chapter Three

…

He sat still for several seconds, trying desperately not to yell in anger and frustration. Try as he might, Harry couldn't deny that talking to Draco was oddly satisfying. Out of everyone he knew, Draco was probably the only one who didn't expect anything from him.

He quelled irrational worries and closed his eyes briefly, feeling an entirely unwelcome headache coming on.

Harry again glanced over at Ron (who was still on the floor and sleeping – Harry felt a rush of unreasonable jealousy – fitfully) and slowly pulled out a few sheets of parchment, freezing when they rustled a little, then shutting the lamp off and sitting perfectly still and silent when Ron turned in his sleep to face towards him. Ron snorted and he winced. Ron nestled back into his covers. Harry waited several seconds before starting to pull the sheets out again.

He didn't know why he didn't want Ron to know, but in his mind he could hear Draco's voice whisper, "It's Starting To Burn…" and he knew somewhere inside of him that he wouldn't tell.

Instead he started on a few letters. He would, he decided, send one letter to the ministry, one to Remus and one to Dumbledore. Shaking his head, he suddenly realized in a surge of guilt, pain and rage that Dumbledore wouldn't get the letter, because Dumbledore was dead. McGonagall, then.

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_I, Harry Potter, recently received news of what has become of Draco Malfoy; thought missing and presumed dead for lack of sight for more than a month, thought to a be a Death Eater or be in the hands of the Death Eater. I am absolutely sure that it is Draco Malfoy._

_He is being held prisoner in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. He has been injured and I did not get a chance to speak to him for very long, but I am sure he is in danger and must be taken from the possession of the Death Eaters._

Harry paused, wondering what to say next. He skimmed it over, and, satisfied that it sounded professional enough, decided to add a tiny white lie to smooth things over at the ministry, where he planned to send the letter.

_In the short time in which I spoke to him, I determined that he is, in fact, willing to join the Light Side for the good of humanity and the Wizarding World. He would place himself in jeopardy for our cause. Apparently he has realized that joining the Dark Side isn't in his best interests. I have spoken to the Weasleys and they would be happy to have him here, but security reasons may force him to stay with Remus Lupin in Grimmauld Place, a safe zone for the Light, or even in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, if found necessary._

_He has asked me not to contact you (The Ministry) in the interest of his own life (he would probably be killed if you raided) but I have defied his wishes by writing you this letter. I hope you will keep the bloodshed to a minimum. I suspect there are other innocents in the manor, and their lives are as important as ours._

_Please consider this closely._

_Regards,_

_Harry Potter._

He reread the letter, decided it was adequate, copied it twice and quietly asked Hedwig to take one to McGonagall, one to Remus and the last to the ministry. Apologizing for the length of the trips, he assured her that it was absolutely necessary, and that she would get a good meal and a long rest when she returned.

Thanking her, he opened the window and saw her off.

…

Pain. It dominates your world, clouding your vision. It is all you can think about. Pain, pain, pain. You blink. Pain. You whisper. Pain. You try to flex your stomach and curl up in agony. As soon as you move, it stuns you, shooting through you, darkening your vision. Your eyes prickle. You sip the water but the cool liquid does nothing to relieve you. You gather your strength and reach your arm out for your pen. _They will be back soon_, you write, and hope that he hasn't left. He will save your world, but for now, just you.

…

Movement in the corner of Harry's eye. Words whispering across the sheet of paper.

_They will be back soon._

**What happened?**

_You don't want to know._

**Are you okay?**

_I'm fine. Just a little banged up, just a little weak from blood loss, you know…no, really. I'm fine. I can't move without pain, but at least I can move at all. Most of the time people go into vegetative states, where their bodies are limp and they're totally unresponsive and they have to be dragged away. I could walk. I think he would have been impressed if he didn't hate me so goddamned much._

**But you are okay.**

_Why the sudden concern, Potter? You've never cared before._

**Well, I'm sorry for fearing for your life, Malfoy. Ever consider that I really care?**

_No, not really. I'd be flattered, but it's you we're talking about. Your hero complex makes you care for everyone. I'm just another person for you to save._

**That's not true.**

Harry could see Draco's eye roll.

_Spare me your idiocy, Potter. Denying it doesn't change the fact that it's true. Am I correct in asking you sent a letter to the ministry?_

**How did you know?**

_It's in your nature to never do anything other people tell you to do or – in this case – not to do. You probably also sent letters to Lupin and McGonagall, right?_

**Yeah. I'm waiting for responses. And…I hope it's okay, but I kind of told them that you're willing to join the Light Side. You're awfully perceptive.**

_Know thine enemy, I suppose. It's all right; I'll just find some excuse. That's what I'm good at. Although, I probably know more about you than your friends do._

**Really?**

_Presumably. Do they know that your favorite colors are dark red and Slytherin green?_

**Probably not. They think I like Gryffindor red best.**

_For your best friends, they're astonishingly slow. Especially since Granger's supposed to be the smartest in the school._

**Last time I checked, she was the – hold on, I've got a letter. Funny, I thought it'd take her longer than that…**

Harry opened it quickly, skimming the letter and allowing a disbelieving grin to cross his face. Perhaps the new Minister had decided that his opinion was worth paying attention to. And perhaps, although it was a long shot, he wouldn't turn out to be all that bad after all.

_What does it say?_

**I'll copy it for you.**

**Harry,**

**Thank you for your letter. I've given instructions to everyone in the entire ministry to send anything from you directly to me. We've decided to value your opinion a bit more than Fudge did, and after looking over our evidence in the Draco Malfoy case, we came to the conclusion that your story is very plausible, especially with the story of Dumbledore's recent and much-regretted death.**

**Although curious about your means of communication, we've decided not to ask any questions, as mail is easily intercepted, until we get to your current residence, The Burrow. I can tell from your letter that you hadn't actually notified the Weasleys, as it's four in the morning and you wouldn't wake them up over something like this. I know Molly would be fine with having Draco, but somehow I don't think the other Weasleys would be very happy if he showed up. For his sake, I'd rather send him to Grimmauld Place. Hogwarts is too large and too accessible.**

**I'll see you in a few minutes.**

**Yours affectionately,**

**Rufus Scrimgeour**

_Ah, the universal we._

**They do use that a lot, don't they?**

_So they do. Perhaps you should go wake the Weasleys and let them know what's happening before there's a knock on the door and they suddenly find out that you've been sending unauthorized letters to the ministry and conversing with a Death Eater they despise on a sheet of obviously charmed paper that arrived by black owl. It would do you all better if they knew the facts. Especially that I'm 'good'._

**Is that concern I detect, Malfoy?**

_Only for myself._

**Always with the image, eh? You know, you're not all that bad when you're not trying to be an absolute bastard.**

_Shush, you! You'll ruin my image. What if they want to read this? Anyways, all I'm concerned about right now is self-preservation. All the ministry wants is the secrets under my hat. Belt. Whichever you prefer._

**Right, well, I'm off, then. Don't write anything, because I wont see it. This will be folded in my pocket, okay?**

**Draco?**

_You told me not to write anything._

**You're supposed to write, 'okay.' And then not write anything.**

_Sincerest apologies, Potter, it appears your simplistic mindset hasn't settled in a dull fog over my brain yet._

**RIGHT, well, I'm off then. Don't write anything, because I wont see it. This will be folded in my pocket, OKAY?**

_Okay._

**Good.**

Harry folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket. He kicked Ron on the way out, said, "Get up, Ron," and after waiting for him to get up, left the room to wake up the others.

…

Ah hah! This is actually going somewhere! I was worried about getting Draco out too quickly, but this was a nice in-between transfer chapter. You may have noticed that Harry's not too torn-up about Dumbledore's death, and neither is anyone else (namely Draco and the minister), but I've been trying to get this through. Harry's seventeen. He's not a little boy anymore. He's legally an adult in the Wizarding World.

He's also been through enough crap to learn to block it out. He's not wasting time mourning and feeling sorry for himself. He's using what precious time he has left to fill his life with the things he didn't get at the Dursleys. As for Draco and Rufus (whose character I'm changing because I think he's smarter than Fudge and not every minister for magic has to be an absolute idiot, as J.K. Rowling seems to think), Draco's pretty shaken up but it's not in his nature to show things like that (as shown in chapter one, angst number one), and Rufus is trying to be a good, unselfish minister who's not a total idiot and so he's not burdening himself with grief. He's being what I like to call 'coolly professional.'

Hope you liked, my darlings! This is my current love! My quickest updates yet! And apologies for current lack of Misunderstanding Trilogy. I'm still stuck.

If there are any errors let me know. I was typing fast and I make them all too much. It's like the faster you type the better, but worse at the same time. Ugggh, I hate life.


End file.
